A Funeral and a Walk in the Park
by Poetic Pixie
Summary: “She watches all the proceedings from a detached part of her mind, curious as to the grief that she sees, not willing to participate in it.” Hermione deals with her losses while having to keep dealing with the war.


This is part one of a little series that I have in mind, mostly just some vaguely connected one-shots that all exist in the same world, you don't have to read one to get the others since the other fics will deal with different characters. So if I do continue it the other fics will most likely be posted as separate stories instead of another chapter to this one. There's some Percy/Hermione friendship that can be taken as romance if you're so inclined. Enjoy.

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"It was a lovely service, your parents were great people." She mechanically hugs the speaker, her voice mummers agreements and thank you's. She watches all the proceedings from a detached part of her mind, curious as to the grief that she sees, not willing to participate in it.

The earth is cold and hard, she remembers overhearing the diggers talking about the difficulty they had. She observes the coffins as they're lowered into the ground, throws flowers in after them; the brilliance of the orange and yellow disappearing under a sea of brown soil. She doesn't move, won't move, as they're buried. She feels the tugs at her sleeve, the whispers for her to leave, but she doesn't listen. She wants to make sure that everything is done properly.

Finally it's done, the snow falling and landing on the ground, not quite solid. It seeps through the dirt and she can feel it melt in her hair, getting caught in her eyelashes. The wind blows her black dress around, the cold creeping up her legs and arms. She doesn't feel it, doesn't care. Her parents are getting wet, she can remember how her mother's face would light up whenever it rained.

Her parents had met in collage because of the rain. Her mother had been homesick and was sitting soaked in a park, on bench under an ancient oak tree. The rain barely filtered through the leaves but then suddenly the weight of it suddenly caused the branches to give way, the water falling down her back and onto her head. She screamed and shot right up, her father having seen the whole thing rushing to her with his umbrella and an offer for aid.

She smiles just then, a small wisp of a grin and she remembers this story, the one her parents never tired of telling. She can hear her parents laughing in time with their tale, about her mother's assurance that she was fine, her father insisting she should get inside before she got sick. Her mother would get a sparkling look in her eyes as she remembered walking back to her dorm, the wetness from her side spreading onto him as they cowered under the shade of his umbrella.

She cries just then, the tears pouring hot and fast down her cheeks and she crumples to the ground. There's a flurry of movement around her, her friends, the only family she has left, they were nearby, as if to make up for not being there a week ago. She doesn't resist as they pull her away, the portkey is all set up, she's spinning and whirling and then she lands in the Burrow. She can feel her legs move, a person on either side guiding her up, up, up. She has Ginny's room all to herself and she sits on the bed, staring at the fading wallpaper.

She can still smell the flowers from the service on her clothes. She hates that word, service, it makes it seem as if her parents were a responsibility, an obligation she wanted to finish as soon as possible. Her dress is wet from where it touched the ground, her hair a wild mess, she doesn't care. Ron and Harry watch her, each holding a hand, each offering a shoulder to cry on. Ron still has his father at least, she realizes that she and Harry are both orphans now.

She then realizes that she's an orphan now.

This revelation makes everything starker, the wonderful grey area that she has always relished is gone. There are two kinds of worlds, the one with her parents and the one without. She thinks about the absurdities she's read in books, how everything had always been described as numb and cold. She only feels searing fire on her skin and pinpricks at the lightest touch. She can feel each individual teardrop as they fall, hear them rolling down her chin.

She can feel Ron's blunt fingers wipe them away, Harry slips a handkerchief between her fingers. She sinks into them, her head on Harry's shoulder, Ron's arm around her waist, she wills herself to breathe in their calm. But she can feel a muscle in Harry's neck convulse, Ron body quivers so slightly that she almost misses it.

She closes her eyes, imagines their faces as they were a few minutes ago. She bites her lip at the grey twinge in Harry's skin, the dullness of Ron's eyes. She remembers that they've lost people as well, the image of Luna in St. Mungo's, her eyes heavy with it's comatose sleep, is imprinted on the black at the back of her eyelids. Neville is still missing, Fred and George can be heard leaving the house, they leave tulips at their mother's grave every Tuesday.

But there's a commotion downstairs, Fred and George start to yell and all three of them fly down the stairs, it amazes her for an instant how quickly she's learnt to put away her grief, but then she pushes away her amazement as well. They find Percy downstairs, his hat bright pink but otherwise looking all right. He had come for Mrs. Weasley's funeral of course, she'd caught him crying silently at the back, but after he had visited his father once. The two reaching a brittle peace that doesn't extend to the rest of the family, she can feel Ron get tense next to her, she holds his hand for the briefest second.

Percy then sees her and gives her a small smile. "Hermione, I'd like to talk to you. I realize that your parents… that this is difficult time for you but the Ministry needs-"

He's cut of by Harry savagely asking, "What does the Ministry want now? For Hermione to be their spokesperson? To say everyone, including muggle borns, should stick together. I've heard how you're loosing support with the muggle borns…" She can feel herself being pushed back, Ron and Harry protecting her from Percy, wanting to shield her from everything. The absurdity that they can protect her from the world makes her want to laugh.

"Harry… Percy's here to see me about something important, I want to talk to him." She summons her woollen coat, the one her mother gave her for Christmas. "We can go to a café or something, I bet the twins have a million and one ways to spy on us here." She takes Percy's arm and doesn't dwell on the hurt looks she gets as the door closes behind her.

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In the end they walk through the park, she still holds onto Percy's arm, to all onlookers they're a pair of lovers whispering sweet nothings.

"I don't _know_. That's the problem. Scrimgeour won't tell us anything but things look pretty bad, the Aurors are working non-stop. I went to talk to Tonks a week ago and she couldn't make time for me. The day before her Auror exams she spent fourteen hours in a line to get Weird Sisters tickets. She couldn't spare me two seconds." Percy frowns and she realizes how hard this has all been for him.

"I know, I heard Kingsley say that he hasn't been home for four days. I worry about them." A snowball flies past them, the intended victim screaming as he dives out of the way. "Do you know who I saw at the funeral? Rita Skeeter with that bloody photographer of hers, I caught her trying to interview a one of my dad's co-workers, I scared her off pretty quickly. I just… I don't know how she could be so _heartless_ as to…"

She doesn't cry exactly, the tears are blinked back and she suddenly realizes that Percy's arm is around her. She unconsciously leans into him, glad for the warmth. "I should be glad that at least they weren't tortured… they might have been had me and the boys come home just then.

"We ran in and I… I saw a Death Eater _looming_ over my parents. My mother had cuts all over her arms, dad bleeding from his head… and then when he… when he saw me at the door there was this flash of green and I… I knew what was happening but I couldn't even stop it and then I could see again they were…" She can feel his grip on her tighten, her words are broken and muddled by the lump in her throat but it's the first time she's saying them. Even when the Aurors had come to question them it had been Ron and Harry who had answered their questions, she just remembers nodding with mute agreement.

She wants so much to forget about it, about her parents' blank eyes and the last time she talked to them. Her mother laughing as usual while her father hugged her goodbye, to her father she'd always be his little girl, to her mother she was a beautiful young woman. To them both she was perfect. They had known how dangerous it was to be alone, both stubbornly insisted that no one in their right mind would be bothered with two old dentists.

Percy is silent beside her, she's glad of him. He was the first Weasley that she befriended, even before Ron and Harry he would find her in the library, tell her where the best books were. And even after she knew her boys she would always make sure to talk to him about school and books and other things. She finds the handkerchief Harry gave her and wipes her eyes. "So, anything else I should know about? About the Ministry?" She hates crying in front of people, her boys are different but for anyone to see her it's different. It's an intrusion on her grief and she doesn't want it.

Percy accepts the change to conversation with ease, "Well, no matter how much Scrimgeour pretends we're fine he keeps having extra jobs for everyone, and he's so unsure who to trust that he often just piles all of trickier things on those who he's knows are reliable. I've got at least five extra projects on my desk right now." There's a bit pride in his voice, he's getting better at his superiority but it slips out at times. His want and need for recognition and appreciation.

"I'm sure that's only because in this whole mess he knows you'll remain loyal to the Ministry. And while I don't agree with them a lot of subjects his trust is a good thing, you believe in it don't you Percy? In the Ministry and that they'll end up doing what's right. I'm proud of you, I'm glad you have something to believe in. Besides yourself."

He almost glows at her praise and she's glad to have given it. The first, desperate time she came to him for help she could remember how glad he seemed to see her. He didn't have many people from his old life come visit. "You never told me why you needed access to the Ministry's archives. I understand that it's secret, between you, my brother and Harry but still…"

She knows he's slightly hurt at the apparent lack of trust, it's a bit unfair really, their agreement. He would sneak her into the archives while she acted as a unofficial liaison between Percy and the Order, McGonagall hadn't approved at first and Percy still didn't know where her own information came from. Just that it was always right and always helpful.

"We're… we're looking for something. That much is obvious…" She sighs, there are so many secrets these days, about loyalties and places and choices. She hates every single one she has to keep. "I can't tell you here, someone might be overhearing us. But I do… I do want to tell you. You're entitled to that much at least…" She can feel him relax ever so slightly next to her, they've reached the end of the path and they silently decide to go back to the Burrow.

He leaves her on the porch, giving her one final hug it seems like something out of those silly romance novels she used to read. He always smells like parchment and sweets, a guilty pleasure that he keeps well hidden. The air is cold and as soon as he apparates away she rushes inside, the warmth that still radiates from the kitchen welcomes her and she takes a deep breath before taking off her boots and walking upstairs.


End file.
